from start to finish
by How Clever of You
Summary: Over the first few weeks, he hung around her desk a lot, just making small talk and casual conversation. / Spinnie!


**HUUUUUGE thank you to rgs38, who read this over, helped me think of an ending, and told me parts of this weren't as bad as I thought they were. You are an awesome beta!**

**Explanation for this fic: I mentioned over at the Flashpoint Team One facebook page that I liked Spike and Winnie together, and someone replied saying that they wouldn't mind it as long as it happened logically. Winnie's feelings for him could have been going on all along and we never would have known. Three years, unfortunately, is a long time to pine after a guy who shows no apparent interest in you. (I would know.) Anyway, the arm wrestling in "The Fortress" and Tattiawna Jones' supporting Spinnie fueled my love for this pairing and drove me to write this. Yay!**

* * *

><p>The first thing she got to know was his voice.<p>

It was a little higher than the rest of the guys', and a lot more nasally. He liked to talk, and there was something about the tone and the pitch that made it seem like you could listen for hours. He told great jokes and wove stories out of thin air; he had a knack for embellishment and over exaggeration.

Her first day there, Spike stopped at Winnie's desk with two cups of coffee and a chair. He sat down and put his feet up, then went on to explain the team. Greg was a softie, but he was tough; Ed seemed cold and stoic, but he had a heart of gold; Sam was full of himself sometimes, but he was a rookie and not that bad of a guy; Jules was underestimated often, but she could kick your ass in no time at all; Wordy was a bit of a fairytale prince, but he could definitely hold his own; and Lew was the quietest, but he could pack a pretty mean punch.

Over the first few weeks, he hung around her desk a lot, just making small talk and casual conversation. Then, once he started to get to know her better, he'd ask about her brother in Ottawa and her roommate from Chile and her Siamese cat. Nobody had cared that much about her in years; it felt nice to have someone ask.

She got to know his hands, too. Spike challenged her to all sorts of games – red hands, arm wrestling competitions, chopsticks, mercy. He spent longer than necessary adjusting his grip, sliding their palms together. Winnie didn't mind; his hands were softer than she had expected (not that she had wondered), and his fingers weren't as calloused as her boyfriend's.

He started bringing her coffee in the mornings. It took her ages, but she finally noticed the flowers he would draw, in tiny print, on the cup. He was giving her flowers on a daily basis, and she had to hide her smile.

His flirting became more pronounced, despite his open knowledge that she was with Nick. It was just harmless, back-and-forth banter that made her heart skip a beat or two. She gave it right back, half-smiling at him and playing hard to get. He never crossed that line, though; he played at a safe distance, enough that he could plead the fifth if it ever came down to it.

She started to fall for him. Before she knew it, she was telling Nick that it was over, that she couldn't be with him anymore because she had feelings for someone else. He said he got it – that was one thing she always liked about him, how he was so accepting and understanding. He tried, half-heartedly, to convince her to stay with him – but they both knew he was fighting a losing battle.

She planned to bring it up, casually, the next morning, when Spike and Lewis would finally be back from Jamaica. She had several lead-ins in mind, just to get to the point where she could say "By the way, Nick and I are over." Then the ball would be in his court and he could finally take her out.

She sat at the desk, running her fingers over the keyboard and rearranging the already filed papers out of sheer restlessness. Finally, he came into the station, a bundle of welcome energy and warm smiles. Jules stuck by him, listening to some of the things that they got up to during their stay.

Spike didn't mention Bridget once; Lew was the one who brought it up, teasing him about it as they disappeared down the hall, heading away from her. She caught it, though, the three days spent with a girl from his past. Once they rounded the corner, she let herself fall back into the chair, brow furrowed. She had been leading him on for far too long, evidently – he had moved on. She couldn't blame him, despite the hurt she felt deep in her stomach.

Later that day, she just broke down. The fresh breakup, the disappointment of that morning, listening to one of the team die over the radio – it was all too much. She took off her headset before Spike started to scream, sending the Sarge a quick ping to let him know she wasn't listening anymore. She dispatched an ambulance (did they really need one?) through her tears, then stumbled down the hall to the locker rooms to get sick into one of the girls' toilets.

What remained of the team gathered for the debriefing. Spike was pale, all cried out and zombie-like. He stared at the wall, unblinking, and only talked when prompted. Even then, though, he left out good-natured cracks and responded in short, halting speech, punctuated by gagging. What little blood left in his face had been drained by the end, and he left the HQ , still in his vest, without another word.

He didn't return for several days, which wasn't unexpected. When he did, though, he had lost weight – instead of being bright and happy, he was tired, gaunt, almost hollow. He was a different person. He didn't talk about anything not directly pertaining to work, didn't accept an invitation to The Goose after shift. He didn't even hang around anymore, eating Winnie's candy and squeezing her hand too tightly.

It almost felt as if they hadn't just lost one team member – they had lost Spike, too. He was empty without his other half. Winnie found him outside the front double doors his fifth shift back, hunched over on one of the benches, just weeping. It was loud, broken, and she sank down next to him. He leaned into her and she held him close, rubbing slow circles on his back through the cotton of his tee shirt.

Eventually, he started to regain his previous appearances. He was still different, though. He was cold, avoiding small talk and personal conversations. His smart-ass remarks transformed; they were no longer accompanied by a smile. They were harsh and biting, and Leah wasn't the only one at the receiving end. Winnie was changing into her streets one day when Jules burst into the locker room in tears over something he'd said in the gym.

This behavior didn't last long, though. After one of their calls, Ed shoved Spike against a wall and told him straight out: if he didn't clean up his act, he would be off the team. To no one's surprise, the comments stopped, and silence took over.

It took time, but he found himself again. The death of his best friend, though, changed him forever. He'd been forced to grow up, and it took a toll on his innocence. He wasn't a saint, of course – he had plenty of regrets. That had been one of their discussion topics, a few months ago – he had wandered up and challenged her to a game of Truth. They went back and forth, relaying some of their mistakes in painful detail. She found out things about him she doubted the rest of his team even knew.

That changed, too. He didn't hang around her anymore, not like he used to. Sure, he would strike up a conversation with her, but it was always either supervised or superficial. They had fallen away from each other through a tragedy, and neither of them was going to make the first move.

She still felt something for him, but it was more subdued. It was barely noticeable, anymore, except for when he passed by in his streets and shot a prize-winning smile in her direction; then her heart jumped and the blood rushed to her cheeks.

He became himself again, but it seemed wrong, like he was missing a limb. His jokes returned, to everyone's relief; he was the funny guy, the one everyone wanted to be around. He took each loss harder than the last, but he kept it hidden instead of spewing his feelings all over everyone else, as he had done the first time. He was closed off to the world, but he didn't let it show.

Natalie Braddock drifted into the picture, wanting to be chased. She worked her charm, and he was a sucker for blondes. (He had told her so, a long, long time ago.) They didn't date for a while, mostly because Sam was playing parent and Spike was afraid of getting shot by his own team member. After he rescued her, knight in shining armor style, from her ex-boyfriend, though, she crossed that line.

They went out for a few weeks. Winnie didn't hear much about it, just a passing explanation between Sam and Jules or Sam and Greg. She never got any information directly from Spike; she asked Jules, in a quiet voice, how the two were doing. She just gave Winnie a knowing smile and squeezed her hand from across the desk.

The relationship dissolved shortly thereafter; Jules texted the news to her. Winnie sat in her bedroom for a long time, staring at her phone, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. The next morning, she was at her desk, dressed up as much as she could without drawing attention or tainting her police uniform (which didn't allow much more than lipstick), and waited. He came into the office a little late, hair sleep-mussed and eyes tired.

When he passed without looking in her direction, she felt a flare of anger in her stomach. Anger from being ignored for so long, for not taking a chance before. It was a deep, burning anger she hadn't even realized she held, and that drove her to push up out of her chair and follow him into the locker room.

The rest of Team One was in the gym, training for an upcoming drill. Spike was alone, sitting on the bench in front of his open locker, lethargically untying his boots. There was a cup of coffee beside him, the steam still rising.

"I don't know what happened," she said to him, and he jumped, startled. "When I first started, we got on really well, right? Everyone says you stuck around me more than you've ever stuck around any other dispatcher. You flirted with me."

"You had a boyfriend," he responded, and swiveled around to face her. His eyes were more open now; he was starting to wake up. "As far as I'm concerned, you still do."

"I was going to tell you the day Lew died." She watched a half-concealed look of hurt cross his face. "I broke up with Nick while you two were in Jamaica because I thought that if I was single you would ask me out. And then you come back with all these stories about Bridget that you wouldn't tell me to my face, and that was the end of us."

"Did you really expect," he started, but she cut him off.

"I don't care anymore," she said, resigned, and threw her hands up. "I'm tired of hoping that you're going to make the first move, because it's quite obviously not going to be happening. And that's okay; I just wish you would have let me know three years ago so I stopped holding onto what we had. I need to stop expecting it to come back, because it won't. We can't go back to who we were. I just needed to let you know that I've been thinking about you all this time and I hate Natalie because she had the clean slate with you, and she's the type of person every other girl wants to be: charming, charismatic, brave. She was able to get you to fall for her, but make it seem like you were the one who made the first move."

Spike kept his eyes trained on the lockers directly over her shoulder. He looked to be in thought, as if he was trying to remember the last few years of his life. He was still in this trance when Winnie excused herself to answer the ringing phone at the desk.

Her mind was still in the locker room, but the shots fired she was patched to brought her back to the present. She grabbed the intercom, her command for Team One to suit up echoing across the station. There was a din from the gym as they separated, heading down to grab their gear.

It was a multi-tier hold up of a hotel. The guy – a dealer – was pissed because he found his girlfriend sleeping around, and he gathered his crew to take her and her boyfriends down. The team split up, with Raf and Spike evacuating the top floors and Sam and Jules starting from the middle.

It wasn't long before she was listening to Spike running away from a guy wielding a knife.

It was, he later justified, the best thing to do. Without Raf to take the perp out, he had no choice but to run for his life, because the man wasn't slowing down.

They flew down the halls, around in somewhat of a circle. Sam was supposed to be heading up, but the elevator was stuck and he was four floors below; Raf was rerouted downstairs, flanking Greg as he talked Patrick Aldin down. So Spike was stuck in a loop, crashing through the halls, a murderous college student on his heels.

"Winnie!" he shouted once he had put somewhat of a berth between himself and his pursuer. She poised her fingers over the keyboard, ready to get him the information he needed. To her surprise, though, he yelled: "Dinner! Tonight! You and me – I'm not taking no for an answer."

There was a long pause, punctuated only by his labored breaths and the occasional swear when the blade came too close. Finally, Greg whispered, "Spike, I don't think now is the time."

"I'm being chased by a guy with a butcher's knife," he replied, panting. There was a loud crash, and Sam gave up his efforts to get the elevator working, deciding instead to take the stairs. "And I would actually prefer if my wounds weren't the only ones being dressed up."

"Yes," she replied, half because she didn't want to think about him being stabbed to death because she said no, and half because yes, she really did want him to take her out, finally, after three years. He whooped, but it was unclear whether or not it was due to her answer or Sam tackling the guy with the knife and cuffing him.

He took her out, that night, to a diner in the city. It was like old times: they talked like no time had passed at all, like Lew had never died and taken him away from her. He asked about her brother in Ottawa, her roommate from Chile, and her Siamese cat.

After dinner, he drove her back to her apartment and kissed her, finally, outside her door. She squeezed his hand tightly before breaking away and backing into her home, a smile on her face. She wished him a good night and eased the door shut, leaving him alone in the hall. Then she leaned back against the wall, listening to him happy dancing before running away, whooping loudly once he thought the elevator had shut.

Her shift the following day didn't start until well after Team One had been released. The dispatcher on duty, Peter, grinned at her when she walked in.

"This is for you," he said, and leaned over the desk to hand her a flower – a real one this time. Winnie took it from him and touched the petals, lightly, before glancing up questioningly. "One Michelangelo Scarlatti wished for me to thank you for a great evening." He raised an eyebrow, but she didn't offer an explanation.

Spike took her out every day for two weeks. The guys started calling him out for missing rounds, and he promised that he'd buy them all drinks soon enough. When Ed made a remark about a new girl in his life, he ducked his head and blushed, and Winnie looked away before anyone could see her watching.

Spike helped her plan the family picnic, too – or, rather, he sat by her side at her kitchen table, playing with her hair, while she wrote everything down. Guest lists, grocery lists, possible locations to book. He offered little help, and she eventually kicked him out of her apartment just so she could have some peace. He returned a few hours later, though, and took her roller skating.

The picnic turned out to be a success, despite the distractions. Winnie stuck by the wives, letting Spike hang out with the rest of the team and catch up, especially with Wordy. Sophie offered some anecdotes about Ed's reckless youth, which Winnie stored in her mind for later (Spike would love to hear them). She kept meeting his gaze from across the beach, and he had to disguise his smile. The others followed his line of sight, but if anyone made the connection, they didn't let on to it.

Everything was fine. Even better than that – she felt happier with him than she had felt in a long time, single or not. So what came the week after surprised her: he was waiting outside the station, long after Team One had been discharged, waiting for her shift to end. She actually had her phone out, ready to shoot him a text, when she saw him.

"You're breaking up with me," she said before he could start. He looked down at the ground, and that was all she needed. "Can you at least explain to me why?"

He was silent for a few moments. Then: "Everyone I get close to… they all get hurt because of me. And I try to do everything I can to save them, but it never works. I fail, and that leaves them hurt. Or worse."

"You don't have to worry about me," she said quietly, but he shook his head vigorously.

"I didn't think I had to worry about Lew." He wiped his tears away, irritably, before looking up at her. "I thought Mac could take care of himself. Natalie and my entire team almost died because I couldn't hack the stupid depot. I care about you too much to put you in that position."

Winnie crossed the yard and sank down next to him on the bench.

"You can't save everyone," she said. "I know that you like to think that you can, but you're just one person. You're not a superhero. You're a just a guy who does exceptionally well in protecting people."

"But I don't," he argued, and she shook her head.

"Your only fault is caring too much. You always see the best in people and give them the benefit of the doubt. I've seen you save people who don't even deserve a second chance – and I've seen you lose those who shouldn't have been there in the first place." He dropped his head again, but she grabbed his arm so he knew she wasn't finished. "You're human. Just because you have had a hard break doesn't mean you're any less than that. You're more sensitive. You let the hurt run its course, because you know it's the right thing to do."

"I don't always do the right thing." He ran a hand through his hair, laughing humorlessly. "I don't even know if _this_ is the right thing to do. Probably not."

"That makes you who you are," she pressed. "The fact that you're pushing me away for my own good – that's a choice. Right or wrong, you're trying to protect me. Even if I don't need to be protected."

"I'm scared," he whispered after a moment. "Every single day. I'm scared that I'm going to screw up again and someone's going to die because of it."

"You haven't, though!" She squeezed his hand. "You didn't plant that mine. The bullet that killed Mac wasn't from your gun. And just because your dad didn't suck up the same fear that you're feeling and be proud of you doesn't mean that it was your fault that he died a bitter man. You're doing the same thing he did – you're pushing people away so that they don't get hurt in the long run. Boss does the same thing. You're not alone. Everyone's scared, Spike."

"I know, I just." He pressed the sleeve of his shirt against his eyes, letting the material absorb his tears. Then he inhaled sharply and shook his head. "I don't know who I am anymore, sometimes."

"You're still the same person," Winnie assured him. "Just… stronger. You've gone through things nobody should ever have to go through. You've faced inner demons that have no right to attack you, because you do everything you can. You strive to be right all the time, even though it's impossible. You're not perfect. But I like that about you."

He glanced over at her, eyes searching her face.

"You made me wait three years." She lowered her voice again, smiling up at him. "I don't know if it's spending every single day getting to know me again –"

"It's not you," he interrupted tiredly. "Or maybe it is. I like you too much to risk that happening."

"You need to let yourself be happy." She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, leaning into him to let him know she was there to stay. "You've been protecting people for your entire life, haven't you? That's why you became a cop. I think it's time for someone to start looking out for you."

He took one of her hands and pressed it against his lips. "I'm messed up."

"I know you are. But I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
